The Art of Dying

by Amy Cross

  “Can I help?” I ask.

  “I don't need anyone.”

  “Do you mind if I at least stick around?” I continue. “To be honest, I don't really have anywhere else to go. It's either sit here with you or go wandering the streets.”

  “Sure,” she replies, as she dries her hand and heads back over to the figure on the floor. “Do what you want.”

  Making my way over to the bench, I stop and look back at Victoria for a moment. She's already back at work, and it's clear that she's totally absorbed by what she's doing. In the dim light of the room, there's something a little creepy about her dedication, as if she's some kind of crazed scientist working on a secret project that no-one else could possibly 'get'. I can totally understand how someone like Miles might think of Victoria as some kind of freak, although I hate the way he expressed his opinion. The truth is, an outsider couldn't possibly know what it's like to be this kind of person. I guess that's another reason why Victoria and I get along so well. We have so much in common.

  “Do you mind if I take a look at your notebooks?” I ask.

  She mumbles something that I can only assume is her consent.

  Taking a look at the pile next to me, I sort through them until I find the one I was looking at yesterday. Flicking it open, I find the page with the drawing of a figure in a star-like position, and then I take out my phone and bring up the photo that Laura gave me of Mike Wallace's body attached to the ceiling of the church hall. Sure enough, I realize with a growing sense of dread that the similarities are too uncanny to be mere coincidence. Victoria's drawing even seems to include some calculations regarding weight distribution, and from the looks of some of the cutaways it would appear that she even inserted some metal bars into the corpse in order to make sure that it wouldn't collapse.

  All things considered, it was quite a feat of engineering.

  Unfortunately, it was also murder.

  “The man who knew everything,” I mutter, reading the scribbled text next to the drawing.

  “Can you pass me a chisel?” she asks suddenly.

  Looking over at the next bench, I spot a chisel glinting in the low light. I grab it and take it over to her, and she mumbles something before getting back to work.

  “Victoria,” I say after a moment, “are you...”

  I pause as I realize that there's no way I can just come out and ask her something so direct. After all, how exactly do you casually inquire as to whether or not someone happens to be a serial killer? She doesn't seem particularly strong or tough, so I figure I could probably take her in a full-on fight, but I'd still prefer to find some other way of getting to the truth. I want to help her, not hurt her.

  “Am I what?” she asks, not looking up from her work. She smiles. “What's wrong, Ophelia?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter, turning and heading back to the bench. With trembling hands, I start checking the rest of her notebooks. There are drawings of figures in various poses, but everything seems to be connected to this Dead City project that she's working on. I keep flicking through the notebooks, until finally I come across some anatomical studies, which eventually give way to some notes regarding the dissection of a human body. Although I'm already convinced that I know what she's been doing, I keep looking through the latest notebook until I find the last piece of irrefutable proof: a diagram showing exactly how the stitched-together body was constructed, and which parts of which victims were used.

  I take a deep breath.

  There's no doubt, not anymore.

  Victoria Middleton is the killer.

  Suddenly I realize I can hear something behind me. Spinning around, I find that Victoria has come over with the chisel in her hand. She looks down at the notebook in my hand, and after a moment she grabs it.

  “Sorry,” she mutters, slipping it into her pocket. “I just... Some of it's private, you know?”

  “Sure,” I reply, trying not to panic. “I didn't mean to snoop. I thought you were okay with me looking at it.”

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  “About what?”

  She stares at me, as if she's trying to read some hidden message in my eyes.

  “I'm sorry I looked at your notebooks,” I continue, desperately trying to steer the conversation onto a more normal footing, while trying not to let her see that I'm onto her. “I just really like the artwork you're creating. I have my own notebooks, and people always say they feel like all the ideas in them are mixed up and unconnected. I guess they don't get it.”

  “Do you understand?” she asks.

  “The artwork?”

  “My notebooks. Everything I'm doing here.”

  “I think so,” I reply. “I mean, there's no context, but...” For a moment, I consider confronting her and telling her that I've worked out what she's doing, but I'm not sure how she'd react. Five years ago, if someone had confronted me in a similar manner, I'm not sure what I've have done. Then again, I only killed one person, and I had a good reason. “Mainly I'm just looking at them aesthetically,” I continue. “Do you... Do you want to explain them to me properly?”

  I wait for an answer, but I can't shake the feeling that in some way she's trying to test me. Looking over at the newest of her resin figures, which is still on its side on the floor, I can't help but feel a little sorry for her.

  “You understand,” she says suddenly, with the faintest of smiles. “I can tell. I've never met anyone before who seemed to really get what I'm trying to do, but you see it. I think I want to...” She pauses. “I want to let you in on the whole thing,” she continues. “If you want me to, anyway. I never thought I'd let anyone else get so close to the project, but there's something about you, Ophelia. I feel like maybe we're the same.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, still trying to stay calm. “I know what you mean.”

  “I don't quite know how I'm going to explain it all, though,” she continues. “Some of it might seem kind of shocking, so you'll have to let me get to the end before you react properly. You'll have to not ask too many questions until I'm finished, and then I can explain it all. Or I can try, anyway. You just need to be patient. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Sure,” I tell her. “I'd like to hear everything you're planning.”

  “Can you come back in a couple of hours?” she asks. “I know that sounds a bit weird, but I need to get everything ready, and it'd be easier for me to do that if I'm alone. You know what it's like, right? When someone's watching you, you end up second-guessing yourself and making mistakes. I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you so late in the day, but I really want to let you in on it all if you can just wait a little longer.”

  “Totally,” I reply, checking my phone and seeing that it's almost three in the afternoon. “I'll come back at six, how's that?”

  “That's great,” she says with a faint smile. “I swear, I'll explain everything when you get back. It might seem crazy from the outside, but it's not. It's something that's really going to make a mark. It's going to be the most brilliant thing ever, and the best part is, I'm so close to being finished.”

  “I believe you,” I reply, feeling as if I need to get the hell out of here so I can work out what to do next. “I'll be back soon, and you can tell me everything.”

  She nods, but I can tell she's scared. I don't know whether she knows I'm onto her, but if she does, it's almost as if she thinks I'm actually on her side. As she turns and heads back over to the figure she's working on, I watch for a moment, and there's something strangely calm about her, as if she has no concerns in the world at all. I guess she genuinely thinks that I understand what she's doing. The crazy thing is, I feel as if Victoria is a version of me that's simply gone out of control in a different way. She's more chaotic, less focused, but we're both coming from the same place.

  “See you soon,” she says suddenly, smiling as she glances at me.

  ***

  “Where the hell have you been?” Laura asks as soon as I enter the coffee
shop. It's early evening now and the light is starting to fade, so this place is full of people who've just got off work. They smell like offices, and I have to fight the urge to turn around and head straight back out of here. I don't belong in this kind of place.

  “Busy,” I mutter. Taking a seat, I see that she's already ordered a cup of tea for me. Reaching down, I start to warm my hands in the steam. I should just tell her straight up that Victoria is the killer, and where to find her, but I'm not sure that's the best approach. I'd rather handle things myself, instead of getting Laura involved.

  “So there's been a pretty major development,” she replies. “In the past few hours, I've had Bryony Hawthorne charged with murder, but -”

  “But you know she's innocent, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then... what are you doing?”

  “It's a trap,” she replies. “Bryony knows the situation and she's willing to play along for the next day, so we're going through the motions of having her charged and held ahead of trial. Meanwhile, the real killer thinks we're done with the case, when in fact we've got the college under constant surveillance. It's an attempt to force him, or her, out into the open.”

  “Sounds risky,” I point out.

  “That's where you come in,” she continues. “I need your opinion.”

  “Is that right?” I ask, taking a sip of tea. I know I need to tell her about Victoria, but for some reason I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable with this whole situation. The thought of Victoria being led away in handcuffs and poked by psychologists doesn't sit right with me. That kind of treatment wouldn't have helped me five years ago, and it won't help Victoria now. There has to be another option. I'm normally good at thinking fast, but this is too much. I need to think faster and better than ever before.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Your leg.”

  Looking down, I realize that I'm nervously tapping my leg against the side of the chair. I immediately stop.

  “I've had checks run on all the students,” Laura continues. “There's only one who's still a suspect. What do you know about Victoria Middleton?”

  “Um...” I stare down at my cup for a moment.

  “Ophelia?”

  “I don't... I...”

  “She's a hard girl to track down,” she explains. “No residential address, no phone number. Almost like you. I was able to get in touch with her parents -”

  “What gives you the right to do that?” I ask, shocked by the idea that she's been rooting around in Victoria's private life.

  “I'm conducting a murder investigation,” she replies, a little sharply. She pauses for a moment, as if she's starting to have doubts about my reaction. “I spoke to her parents, but they haven't had any contact with her for the past two years. Naturally they're very concerned, but they weren't able to help.” Another pause. “I'm keeping an open mind, but it's starting to look as if Victoria might well be the one we're after. Everything's circumstantial so far, but it's still pointing at her. Ophelia, do you know anything about Victoria?”

  “I've met her,” I say cautiously.

  “And?”

  I pause for a moment. The truth is, when I imagine Laura bringing the full weight of the police force down on top of Victoria, I can't shake the feeling that there should be another way. If Victoria ends up being locked away for the rest of her life, no-one will ever understand her. She'll be treated like a common criminal, but she's more than that. I'm not making excuses for what she's done, but I'm starting to think that maybe I can help her. For that to happen, though, I need a little more time; I need to get Victoria away from all the madness, to a place where I can talk to her and help her.

  “She's a bit weird,” I say eventually. “She reminds me of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone I used to know.”

  “Do you have any idea where we can find her?”

  I shake my head.

  “I think she's planning something,” she continues. “The first two murders were just setting the scene, but I'm convinced she's going to do something for the final show. This whole case is all about art. If I can't find her in time -”

  “Maybe she won't do anything,” I point out, interrupting her. Again, I look down at my tea as I feel a plan starting to form. “Maybe she'll realize that it's wrong, or maybe someone else will stop her.”

  “Someone else?”

  “You jump to conclusions a lot,” I add. “How do you even know that the killer's going to do anything for the final show?”

  “Do you think I'm wrong?”

  “I'm just thinking out loud,” I add. I take a deep breath, aware that I'm already sounding too defensive. If I was in Laura's shoes right now, I'd be totally suspicious of me. Looking down, I realize that my leg is shaking again. I stop it, but still, I don't think I can sit here much longer.

  “If I'm right,” she continues, “Victoria Middleton is extremely dangerous. She's already killed ten people, and I imagine the final part of her project is designed to be the showstopper. Other lives are at stake, but I don't know who. Maybe fellow students, maybe her family, maybe complete strangers.” She pauses for a moment. “Ophelia, I don't mind admitting that I need your help here. You're good at this kind of thing. Don't you have any idea where I can find Victoria?”

  “Nope.”

  Sighing, she sits back.

  “This could go horribly wrong,” she continues. “I'm taking a huge risk.”

  “Then why not do it another way?” I ask, hoping to talk her out of this. “You're trying to be too clever. Just have the final show canceled and -”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I need to catch her.”

  “There are other ways. Get her photo out there, launch a manhunt. Do what other detectives do and go on the news to talk about her.” I pause, hoping that she'll realize I'm right. After all, my suggestions will take time, and I'll have a better chance of talking Victoria out of what she's planning and then somehow helping her.

  “This approach is going to work,” she replies, with a hint of doubt in her voice. “The killer is going to target the final show -”

  “You don't know that.”

  “It's the only thing that makes sense. We're going to be watching every square inch of that place. Nothing and no-one will get in or out without us seeing.”

  I open my mouth, ready to tell her that her so-called surveillance hasn't even picked up on Victoria's secret workspace in the building next to the college, but at the last moment I realize that there has to be a better way of doing this. Victoria's made some huge mistakes, and I remember when I made mistakes in my own life. I was lucky, because no-one caught me and I was able to get a second chance, and I figure that Victoria needs a second chance too. Instead of leading Laura and the police straight to her, I'm going to step in and make sure that everything is okay. I can save Victoria from herself, but only if Laura doesn't interfere.

  As for justice... screw justice. All that matters is that no-one else dies, and that I show Victoria how to turn her life around. Having her arrested won't bring back the people she killed, and locking her away wouldn't be justice.

  “What's wrong?” she asks suddenly. “I know that look on your face, Ophelia.”

  “There's no look on my face.”

  “Yes there is. You're up to something.”

  I shake my head.

  “You are,” she continues. “Come on, I need your help here. If you're doing something, you have to -”

  “I'm not a fucking cartoon,” I snap suddenly.

  She stares at me.

  “I'm not 'up to something' all the time,” I add, even though I know I shouldn't be reacting this way. “I'm not some idiot sneaking about, always pulling strings and then saving your ass when you fuck things up. I'm just trying to help you, and I'm sorry if I wasn't able to slip into that school and instantly catch the killer for you, but
you know what? Instead of relying on me, why don't you do your job and catch the killer yourself?”

  She opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out.

  “I'm sorry,” I continue, “but...” Sighing, I set the cup of tea down. “I'm not a cartoon,” I tell her again, “and I'm not a superhero. Neither of us are. Sure, it would've been cool if I'd come up with something, but I didn't. So now you're gonna have to do your job properly, and if you want my opinion, you're taking a really risky approach. People's lives are at stake, Laura, so you need to be damn sure you know what you're doing. If anyone else dies...”

  My voice trails off as I realize that I'm not explaining myself very well.

  “I didn't know you felt that way,” she replies.

  “I really want you to solve this,” I tell her as I get to my feet, “but you can't rely on me.”

  “Yesterday you said -”

  “Yesterday was yesterday. Fine, maybe you were right when you told me I was acting like a cartoon a while ago. All that bullshit about jumping off a bridge, it was ridiculous. I was on some kind of hyper bender, pumped up on my own ego. But now I've started to realize that it was all pointless.” As I stare at her, I can see that I've hurt her, but at the same time I need to buy some time so I can go back and help Victoria. “I'll see you around, okay?”

  Turning, I head to the door.

  “Wait,” she says suddenly, grabbing my arm. I hadn't even realized that she was following me, but when I look back at her I can see the doubt in her eyes. “What's wrong?” she asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “You're lying to me.”

  I shake my head.

  “You're lying,” she adds. “Ophelia, please, just talk to me. I'm sorry if you don't like the way I've been doing things, but I'm getting desperate here. You're right, I have taken a high risk approach to this case. It usually works for me -”